


An Unhealthy Obsession: Mason

by TangerineDT



Series: An Unhealthy Obsession [2]
Category: Dialtown: Phone Dating Sim (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Many Side Characters - Freeform, More tags in the future, Mystery, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangerineDT/pseuds/TangerineDT
Summary: The Second installment of An Unhealthy Obsession
Series: An Unhealthy Obsession [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871806
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Frantic Fixtures

If it weren’t for the rich scent of black coffee, I don’t think I could get out of bed in the morning. I turn my head over to see the other side of the bed vacant, the door open ajar and a waft of caffeine hitting my nasal port, kicking my body into gear. I spring out of bed and stretch my joints, sifting through the pile of clothes that I need to wash. I pull out a pair of worn jeans and slip into them, struggling to button it up against the bulk of my still expanding gut. Should maybe lay off the wired nougat from now on, I can only imagine what they're doing for my health. I throw on a plain t-shirt and make my way into the kitchen, yawning for a solid moment before scratching my neck and greeting the woman who keeps this apartment from falling apart.

“Mornin’ Sharon. Hope I didn’t wake you when I came home last night, Jake insisted that I stay and have a drink with him and some of the other guys.” I sneak behind her as she is filling two mugs with only the darkest of coffee. She follows me over to the small dining table we have in the already small space that we own and sits across from me. I glance out the window to the waking town, cars already rushing up and down the street to destinations unknown to me, only to return my gaze to the mug in front of me.

“Don’t worry, as you know, the only thing that wakes me is my alarm.” Sharon coos, taking a sip from her brew. I knock back half the glass in one motion, enjoying the scalding burn it leaves in my mouth. She gives me that usual look of wonder as I stand up and walk to the entryway, slip on my jacket and return to the table only to finish the coffee. “Can’t you stay and chat a bit? We haven't been able to really see each other in awhile, you know.”

“I promise, once I finish the paperwork from the last job, I’ll have some spare time. That's to say the police force can handle everything else until then.” I scoff, grabbing my keys and my wallet off of the kitchen counter and stuffing them into their respectful pockets. Sharon gets up out of her chair and embraces me, resting her rotary head upon my tape recording one.

“Be safe out there.” She says, stepping back and looking me directly in the optical sensors.

“Always am. Love you, I’ll see you tonight.” I say as she nods, stepping aside to let me through. I open the door and wave to her as I leave. Seconds after the lock clicks into the latch I’m already descending the three flights of stairs down to street level, trying to clear my tired, clouded mind as I do so. Once through the lobby, I open the door to let the heavy city air flow over me, the last sequence in my waking routine. My car sat stationary in the same spot that I parked it last night, its rust spots and paint chips making it blend into the environment of uptown fairly well. I settle into the fabric of the car seat and turn the key in the ignition, thoughts filling my mind. I don’t expect any work to come in today, so I could probably swing by the old video store on the way home tonight and pick out a movie for me and Sharon to watch. With this week having been chock full of frantic parents asking for me to find their child, only for them to be at a friends house in secret, and that's not including the actual petty crimes that I have to take charge of as a criminal investigator. Passing the time in thought while I drive the four miles it takes to get to my detective’s office, I try to dig through my head and remember if Sharon likes cookie dough over mint ice cream.

Finally breaking from this train of thought, I see the office up the road and park across from the entrance. I open the door and breathe in the tough air, happy to hopefully just do some paperwork and be able to spend some time with the misses. Laughing to myself, I slam the car door shut and strut up to the glass door, pull out my keys and move to open the door, but stop before I even pull out the correct key. Sitting inside the waiting room is a tired looking man, maybe in his early twenties, with a light bulb attached to a lamp base for a headpiece. Why would somebody pay money to have that as a head? It serves no purpose besides being a light source. I snap out of it and push open the door.

“How the hell did you get in here? You better start talking before I start thinking of pressing charges for breaking and entering.” I demand with crossed arms. What if he went through my office? I need to stop keeping my gun on my work desk…

“Look, I’m terribly sorry for picking the lock, sir. I need desperately to talk with you, and I thought you would be in here already setting up, so I just entered then you weren’t here so I just-” The man appears to catch himself, and he stands up a bit straighter, “I would like to speak with you about very urgent matters.” Taking a closer look at him, he seems like he hasn’t slept in awhile. His clothes were a mess- I mean who wears dress pants with such a brightly colored shirt? I shake my head, heading toward my office.

“Well, you can wait a few minutes, since I’m not technically open right now.” I walk past him and toward my door, pulling out the key for it. Turning the knob I realize he hadn’t broke into it, so that's a relief. I open it and look back to him. If he had a fleshy face, I could imagine it being flared up at this moment, with his white knuckled fists. He seemed to be trying to keep his composure.

“I-I will not wait! This needs to be discussed at this very moment, sir.” He fumes. I look at him dead in whatever optical sensors he has.

“You will wait, or I might just not decide to ignore the fact that you broke in.” I say sternly. He sits back down, his hands clenching the underside of the seat. I turn back to my open office and walk inside, sitting down at the desk. It did seem like it was an important issue, so I don’t spend too much time moving papers around. I write down on a sticky note to buy better bolts for the doors. Looking back up, the man sat there in the lobby, looking overly impatient. I wave for him to come in and he practically sprints over, stopping just before he gets to the desk.

“Now, may I speak?” He asks. I motion for him to sit down, which he does immediately. I nod.

“Go ahead. What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s not what seems to be, it’s what is the problem. My mother and my brother have been missing for almost two days now, and nobody seems to know what happened.” He speaks calmly, but I can sense worry in his tone. 

“What are their names? Do they also have light bulbs for heads?” I ask, pen and paper at the ready.

“Darla and Greg Fenton, and yes, they do.” I stop and look up at him, a fog clearing from my mind.

“Wait, you're a Fenton? Son of Edwin Fenton?”

“That’s correct, sir. Craig is my name.” Craig says with pride.

“Huh, didn’t know that the bastard had a wife, let alone children.” Craig looked stunned by my statement, but before he can retort, I continue. “So, tell me what you know.” He stares at me for a moment before speaking.

“Well, three days ago, there was an accident at a family gathering, and Greg was put into the hospital. Luckily he didn’t die, but he was admitted for a longer stay to make sure he would fully recover. Then both my mom and Greg disappeared. From what the nurse in charge of his room told me and my father, mother came in and had Greg discharged around seven in the morning for some reason. That was yesterday, and mom never returned to the house with Greg.” Craig taps his finger on the armrest of the chair. “It’s unlike my mother to do anything that requires her to leave the house, you see, so this is both puzzling and worrying me and my father.” I listen to him tell his tale, nodding.

“Did Darla seem to be acting strange before all of this happened?” I inquire.

“Not from what I had seen.” He says. I stare down at the paper for a moment. I don’t want to help Edwin in any way at all, but this kid seems to be worried sick of his siblings. Hell, he broke in just to find help faster. I sigh.

“Alright. I’ll take on this case.” The bulb inside his dome stand appeared to get brighter. “Is there anything else you can tell me? You’re not giving me a lot to work with here.”

“I swear, that's all I know. Mother kept to herself, and Greg, well, he never left his apartment other than when I tried to get him rekindled with society.” Craig says, a half-hearted laugh coming from him.

“Where is Greg’s apartment?”

“It’s uptown, right across from Spares and Wares, this weird thrift shop, or at least from what I’ve heard.”

“And I’m assuming the hospital he was admitted to was in this town?”

“The only one here, yes.” Craig confirms. I click my pen once and set it to the side, bringing my attention back fully to him.

“Well, I’ll get on this as soon as can, I can assure you that much. To be honest, your mother could just be having a strange episode of some kind, but if anything arises, I’ll let you know the details. Do you have a phone of some kind that I can contact you with?” Craig nods. I slide a sticky note to him, along with a pen, and he gets the idea. He writes down his number on the paper and I take it back, stuffing it into my jacket alongside the notes I have written down.

“Thank you so much for this.” As he says this, he stands and makes his way toward the door.

“Your welcome. Just know I will be expecting payment when all is said and done.” Craig nods.

“Of course. Oh, by the way, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Mason Briggs.” I say, handing him my business card. “Call me if anything comes up.” He takes it and waves, leaving the room and out the front door. I sit back in my chair, contemplating the information Craig gave me. The last place the mother and her kid were seen was the hospital, so naturally I’m going to see what I can find out there. But if the hospital leads to a dead trail, I won’t be able to do much other than blindly search, and I doubt that will do any good. Seeing as there isn’t much to go over, I grab my wallet with my badge and my gun, and head out the door. The way I see it, this should be a quick and easy case, and hell, if everything goes smoothly enough, I won’t even have to report this case to the chief of police this time. I walk out of my office but stop as I see my secretary, Janet, walk in looking puzzled.

“Was that a child of the Fenton’s that just left?” She exclaims, looking back out the door. I respond with distaste in my voice.

“Yeah, from what he told me at least.”

“My goodness! I bet you could make some serious money with him. Did you know that Edwin himself is striving to help his child become the next mayor?” Janet says with glee. I shrug, making my way past her.

“I don’t keep up to date with stuff like that, just a waste of time.”

“Oh, come now. A bit of drama never killed anybody.” I glance back at her, then make my way out the door. I never understand why people like to read about other people's livelihoods, it just sounds boring when you could be improving your own life instead, or helping others, as I try to do with my job. I get back into my car and start down the road toward the hospital, adjusting the very loose mirror. Now the question is why. Why did Darla come to get Greg, and where did she take him? From what Craig told me, it sounds to me like she’s the type that makes the house her life, not doing much else in the form of entertainment, and if that’s the case then I should discuss with her husband about her. As for the kid, once I find the mother, I should find him. I get lost thinking about this that once I break out of my self-induced trance, I’m pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. Once parked, I get out and make my way to the visitor’s entrance. As I’m walking, I look up, and to my delight there is a camera monitoring the lot. I walk through the automatic doors and up to the almost vacant reception desk, the lady taking charge sitting in the chair behind the counter. She looks up from a fashion magazine, seeming a bit surprised. She quickly tosses the magazine to the side and boots up the bulky computer on her desk, looking up to me with her hands folded.

“How can I help you? Do you have an appointment of some kind?” She says, a nervous feeling emitting from her. I pull out my wallet and flash my badge.

“I’m here investigating the disappearance of Darla and Greg Fenton. Were you working this desk when Darla came in?” The lady, whose name I discover is Lona by sneaking a peak at her name tag, turns to the computer, takes a few seconds to check something, then turns back to me.

“I was. I’m guessing you have questions for me?” I nod.

“When Darla came in, did she seem off at all? Nervous maybe?” She shakes her head.

“No, she came in wearing the most elegant dress I’ve ever seen, and I helped her get set up with getting her son discharged. The only weird thing was that her skin, of what was showing, looked like it had makeup? But I was probably just tired, is all.” Lona says with a laugh. I sigh, glancing at a hallway leading deeper into the building. I turn my attention back to Lona.

“Where is your security located at?” She turns to a hallway on the right and points to it.

“Just head down there, take a right at the first divergence, and then it should be near the end of the hallway, third door from the end.”

“Thank you” I say, already on my way down the large glossy hallway. The lights covering the ceiling glare downward with a blinding brightness, and the air was difficult to breathe in with the overwhelming scent of sterilization. I hurry my way down to the security office, and not to my surprise, the door is locked. I knock upon it and wait for a response. A short man in uniform opens the door, looking up at me. I flash my badge once more.

“I’m Detective Mason Briggs and I’m here investigating the disappearance of Darla and Greg Fenton,” I say for the second time, “is there any way I could take a look at your camera footage from a few days ago?” The short guard gives me a puzzled stare.

“Don’t you need a warrant or something first?” He asks, and I sigh.

“If you let me in now, there won’t be any hassle with papers, and I can get to the bottom of my case sooner. Would be a shame if a young boy died because I had to wait a day to get some camera footage.” The guard immediately looks awkward after my jabbing statement and shuffles to the side, motioning for me to come in, to which I immediately follow. He takes a seat at a monitor and hovers his hands over the controls. 

“Date and time?” He asks. I lean against the wall closest to him, yawning.

“Two days ago, starting at around six thirty.” The guard switches it to the correct time and moves back a little to let me use the camera. I move over to it and switch to the camera in the parking lot, fast forwarding a little bit. I do this until I see what I’m looking for. A station wagon pulls into the lot, and out steps a woman in a large puffy dress, gloves fitted on her hands going all the way up past her elbow. Her head, an ornate light bulb, shined in the morning light as she walked into the building, disappearing from the screen. Something seems… off about her. I quickly grab a pen and a scrap of paper on the desk, writing down the plate number on the car, which happen to be rental plates. I switch to the camera in the lobby and watch as Darla talks to the receptionist, and then disappears down the hallway. I fast forward some more until I see her again, walking back from the hallway, but this time with a young man. She has her arm around him, guiding him out the door. What I assume to be Greg only has a white disk for a head, the space where a bulb could have been is now replaced with a circular bandage, or is that a graft of some kind? Switching back to the lot, they both get in the car, and leave. 

“Thank you kindly, I’ll be on my way now.” I say as I grab the piece of paper I wrote on. The guard nods to me, then shuts the door behind me. I walk in haste down the hallway once more, focused now on getting back to the car. Something is obviously going on here, but I should talk with Edwin first, despite how much I hate that idea. I should also look into seeing who rented that car, even though I know it’s going to have Darla’s name under it, it’s good to go through the motions. I start to make the turn in the hallway when someone crashes into my shoulder, knocking me off balance. I regain my footing to see a man in a lab coat, with a bunsen burner for a head, dashing down the hallway and toward the door, his arms full of bottles of what appears to be chemicals. A multitude of security personnel and doctors are in full pursuit behind him, shouting for him to stop. I stand here for a few seconds, just trying to process what happened. I shake my head and continue my way out. Once outside and in my car, I start the engine and set off to the Fenton’s mansion. The last time I was there was during a city wide event that took place at the manor, a celebration for the Mayor’s birthday. The bastard had actually managed to get the mayor to come to his own house, so of course I worked hard enough to where I could go. The whole time I was there, it was always Edwin trying his darnedest to make my stay uncomfortable for whatever reason, insulting my choice of clothing and even having the audacity to insult my wife. I did the good thing and left, but going back now, I can’t help but think of all the ways I could lose my badge today.

I space out on the way there, my head becoming clouded with hateful thoughts about the rich con artist. It’s bad enough that he’s just a terrible person, but he’s a terrible person that wants to take charge of this town, and I can’t even imagine what would happen if that became the case. These thoughts fester in my mind until I reach the manor. I pull up into the gravel driveway and let out a lengthy sigh, followed by grumbles as I step out. The building looks exactly the same as when I was first here, unnecessarily large and out of place out in the fields. Walking toward the two grand front doors, there sits a lawn chair and a few cigarette butts covering the steps. I rap on the door four times, and almost as soon as I do the door opens to a man with a kitchen timer for a head. Leaning against the door for support, he raises his hand to say something, but is caught in a yawn. I wait for him to speak.

“Whatever business you could possibly have here can wait till a later date.” He says, already starting to close the door. I stick my foot in and stop the door, and the man gives me an angry look, to which I pull out my badge.

“I’m here investigating the disappear-” I am cut off short by the timer slapping the badge right out of my hand and down the steps, landing with a thud in the gravel.

“Get lost you-” He begins to say, but a voice from behind cuts him off.

“Singa! Your attitude lately shall not be tolerated in these hard circumstances! Now, step away from the door.” My suspicions of whose voice that is is answered as soon as Singa begrudgingly walks away somewhere else. Edwin opens the door to see me picking up my wallet and scoffs.

“Oh, it’s you.” He scowls. I get a sinking feeling as I pull my badge out for the umpteenth time.

“Look, I’m just here to ask you some questions, and then I’ll be out of your wires. And if it’s not too much trouble I would like to look around the place.” I say, trying my hardest not to go off on him. He stands in place and stares, knowing fully of what I spoke of.. He turns away and starts walking back inside.

“You have ten minutes to talk, and an hour to do your exploring.” I hold back my spiteful comments and follow him in. Edwin stops in the entry hall and leans against the wall, setting his cane aside. “Ask away.” I stand across from him, clearing my throat.

“When was the last time you saw Darla?” I ask, reaching up to my head and pressing ‘record’. Edwin pauses for a moment.

“The last time that I saw my wife was three days ago at the dinner table. She got upset and stormed off somewhere in the house, leaving me to deal with a disgraceful mess.” He says as he fixes the cloth covering his neck. 

“And what if I told you I’ve seen footage of her driving off with your son, Greg?” As soon as I say this, Edwin’s bulb dims and skin grows pale.

“Then I would say that wasn’t my wife. She never leaves the house, and she doesn’t even have a license, let alone knows how to drive…” I tilt my head in confusion.

“How did she get groceries then? I assume she does all of the house work if she never leaves.” Edwin looks insulted by this.

“What!? I would never leave her to do everything by herself! We have maids and other housekeepers to help and go out to get supplies.” 

“I see.” I sit in thought for a moment.

“Anyways,” Edwin says “ do you wish to hear anything about Klancy?” I look up at him in confusion.

“Who’s Klancy?” Edwin looks at me, just as confused as I am.

“There were two disappearances three days ago, my wife, Darla, and Klancy, one of the many workers in the kitchen. Did you not know about Klancy?” He inquires. I shake my head.

“I was only told of Darla and Greg.” I say. Edwin checks his watch and grabs his cane.

“I’m going to have to cut this short, I have important matters to get to, but feel free to peruse. Just don’t dawdle for too long.” He rushes off to somewhere in the mansion, leaving me to my own devices. I reach up and hit ‘stop’ on my recording head, watching as Edwin leaves. From what I had seen, the Darla driving the car didn’t seem inept in that department. I also find it strange that this Klancy character had gone missing on the same day. Did Darla kill him? Or did he go with her? I rack my brain with questions, setting off toward where I assume the kitchen is. Walking down the over-decorated hallways, I’m glad I didn’t stay long last time, for this is a crime against home furnishing. I continue down winding pathways until I find the kitchen, and upon opening its doors, I find that it’s bigger than some of the restaurant setups I’ve seen. Stepping inside, I see about nineteen men and women all sitting at a table and playing poker. One of them looks up and immediately rushes over to me.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” He says excitedly. They must have not been able to make anything big since this accident I keep hearing about. 

“Is there anything you can tell me about Klancy?” As soon as I say this, it appears to have put a dampener on the guy.

“I mean, I guess. Can I make you anything in the meantime?” I shake my head, clicking ‘record’ once more.

“No, not really feeling that hungry at the moment. Now, about Klancy?” I inquire. I look down at the man’s uniform, reading ‘Ryan’ from a tag sewn into the cloth.

“Well,” Ryan begins, “It was a long night of making food for not just the family, but for all the guests as well. Klancy was just as productive as the rest of us, maybe even more so that night! He’s always such a hard worker. After all the cooking, we decided to go down to the wine cellar and pop open a bottle.” As he talks, he leans against one of the many metal islands in the room. “Before we went down, Klancy told us he had some things he needed to do, and that he would be with us shortly. He never showed up.”

“Did you see him at all the days after?” I ask, to which Ryan shakes his head. “Well, unless there is anything else you can tell me, I think I’m going to leave.”

“I can’t think of anything. Again, it was a really busy night, so if there was anything off, I wouldn’t have noticed, nor do I think my colleagues would have either.” I look over to the group, then back to Ryan. I nod and turn to make my way out, hitting ‘stop’ on my head. If Darla doesn’t have a license, then there is no way she could have rented a vehicle. If I can find out who rented that out to her, I might be on the right track to finding her and whoever is helping her. I rush back toward the front door and out onto the driveway, taking out my keys as I get closer to my car. I open the door and settle into the driver’s seat. With any luck, I can stop by the DMV to see which company it was rented from, and then return back to the apartment to spend time with Sharon. I can go to the actual rental company tomorrow. I reach over to put the keys into the ignition, but stop as I feel a sharp pain in my neck. I faintly hear shuffling from the back as my body starts to go numb. I drop my keys and try to turn around to see what the hell is going on, but my head is being in place. I reach for the door, but the world fades into fuzzy darkness before I even brush my fingertips over the handle.


	2. A Game of Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason awakes to a world of mystery.

I let out a groan as I raise my head with more effort than is normally required. Wherever I am, it’s pitch black, save for a sliver of light coming from what I can assume is a door. I try to move towards it, but I stay in place as I now start to feel the tension of something binding me to the spot. I try to make sense of what’s going on but my head sways to the side, a nauseating feeling rising in my throat. Pushing that feeling aside, I jerk myself forward and start to inch across the floor, but something gives way behind me and I fall, a loud clanging of metal resonating within the dark room.

“Aah!” I yelp loudly, my head ringing from the impact. From the other side of the door I can hear someone shuffling closer, and then the sound of a lock being turned. The door swings open and as I’m getting used to the sudden change in light, I’m lifted back upright from the floor. With the newfound ability to see again, I now realize that I’m tied to a hand truck and whoever opened the door is now rolling me out of a closet. My groggy body begins to regain its strength as I struggle against the rope more. The dolly stops in front of a very large white board that's covered in pictures, paper clippings, and red yarn connecting to some of them. It seems like something from one of those cheesy detective films. The person pushing the dolly then walks in front of me and leans against a table. I now wish my sensors were broken.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.” I say, now recognizing the woman. I know that monitor head all too well from her consistent visits to my office about how otherworldly beings are living in the forests, or some other bizarre conspiracy equal to that level, and how people like me needed to take action. What a load of shit.

“Now listen, you are going to keep your mouth shut while-“

“Nutrient hatch.” I correct Lorraine, and in response to that she digs her heel into my foot, almost stabbing through. A pained gasp escapes me as she continues.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, and I know this is all very confusin’, but if you just listen for a moment I can explain.” She says, annoyance and a tinge of desperation in her tone.

“Why explain? It’s obvious you kidnapped me.” I say sarcastically.

“Mason.”

“Lorraine.”

“Can I speak now?” She asks, sounding a little defeated. Or tired, my senses are still returning to me. She moves back over to the board she has set up, taking my silence as confirmation. “Tell me what you see here.” She orders, motioning to the board. I lean forward a little, looking closely.

“Well, from what I can tell, you took old archived newspapers and singled out a bunch of old murder victims? And judging by the empty space in the middle of the board, I assume you think they are all connected since there is dollar store yarn going from everything to the center. As for the random… blog articles, I can’t read those from here.” I finish, leaning forward to try and form the words together. 

“You are mostly correct.”

“Just before you continue,” I start, “whatever this is, I don’t want any part in it. I’m not helping you spread lies on the internet. Because this,” I say, nodding to the board and everything on the table, “this is lunacy. Whatever bullshit excuse you're about to say to try and rope me into this isn’t going to work. I swear, the moment I am out of these bindings I am going to put a crack in that head of yours!” The whole time I spoke, Lorraine just stood there with her arms crossed.

“My god, are you done?” She says, unamused. After a moment of silence, she continues. “Firstly, no matter what you choose to believe, this relates to your current assignment, so I think you should get that cynicism out of your aged head and start listenin’.” This hits me. How the hell does she know what I’m doing? Am I bugged? She points to one of the clippings. “‘Member Ryan Lennhaf? He was the first in a long line of disappearances, except the only thing about Ryan that separates him from the others, was that they found his body.”

“Where are you going with this?” I ask. She picks up a document.

“According to the Coroner’s report, the body was in almost perfect condition, no signs of a struggle or otherwise, ‘cept the head had been cleanly removed from his adapter and was never found.” She puts the paper down and moves to another part of the board. “Now, minus a few, I collected all of the people that I think fit the criteria of what I had been looking for, save for the head being gone, but what I instead found is even more fascinatin’. I have counted a total of almost six hundred people documented to have disappeared in the last twenty six years. Five hundred and eighty seven if you want the exact numbers. And that is just the documented, not to mention the possible forgotten that never made it onto a police report.”

“Six hundred? Where the hell are you getting these numbers?” I say, baffled by the sudden amount of information being piled onto me. With my headache subsiding, I turn my head to look around more. This place appeared to be underground, but if it weren’t for the stairs being only visible beyond a pile of bunched together newspapers, you wouldn’t be able to tell. The room is fully furnished with uneven carpet and possibly a couch buried under stacks of boxes, but filling every other space are shelves lined with random items of all assortments, notable mentions being an old typewriter and a box of random mechanical parts. There is even a desk off to the side that is covered in monitors, modems, and a few routers. I think I may even see a police issued radio on the desk. This feels all too surreal.

“That’s not important, but what is important is that these missing folk had all been sighted a long period of time after they had vanished, but nobody truly looked into this ‘cause it had seemed absurd. The ones that sighted and recognized the people that had been missing took pictures and posted them online.” Lorraine grabs a handful of printed out copies of these said pictures and fans them out in front of me. I take a look at them all, recognizing some from past families coming to me to find the said loved one, but something was off. As I’m piecing this together in my head, Lorraine speaks up.

“You notice it too? All o’ these people, albeit looking like themselves, have the same body shape. Even with this one,” she picks one out, a woman in maybe her late twenties wearing a puffy sweater, “you can tell that it’s the same body shape, but a little harder to tell because of the sweater o’ course.”

“Are you saying that someone is snatching people and then impersonating as them with their heads?” 

“That is exactly what I’m sayin’.” She says, nodding. I burst out laughing, almost falling backward on the hand truck again. Lorraine flinches from my sudden laughter, taken aback.

“That’s impossible! Have you forgotten the law that was passed not even a year after the dialup happened? All adapters are not the same! You have to get your head specifically made for you when you get a full replacement, you can’t just go around and plop someone else's head on for fucks sake!” She is starting to piss me off, going on about all of these tall tales. And to even think for a moment that this wasn’t just another conspira-

“I know that, and I was about t’ get to that.” She takes a moment to breathe. “After the law had been passed, there were four men who had brought up the idea for a kind o’ omni-adapter, but all were turned down. One of those four men died around ten years ago, and the other three are still living somewhat normal lives from what I can assume, after they had been all fired from working at the Dialtown phone production lines, that is. I was able to track down only two of them.” She walks over and shows me a photo of an old man with a worn rotary phone for a head. It looked like at one point the phone was painted yellow, but now was mostly a dirty white with yellow patches here and there. “Bryce Roberts. He lives out in a shack a little ways into the forest, and it didn't seem like he took being fired very lightly. The other guy was put behind bars two years ago on august fifteenth for drug trafficking.” I pause to think, tossing this over in my head.

“And what about the last guy?” I inquire. She shrugs.

“The fourth is a bit of a mystery. His name is Kelly Brooks, but after he stopped working in the factory, he just disappeared from all records. I have everything before that point, but other than that he’s just gone.”

“Right. So, you still have yet to explain why this connects at all to what I was doing before you committed a crime.” I say, getting more than a little impatient.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, I have reason to believe that the killer has to be one of those two men, that being either Bryce or Kelly. I also have reason to believe that the killer is the person you're looking for.” I run this through my head for a moment.

“Why?” Lorraine pulls out a slip of paper, the same paper I wrote the rental plates down onto.

“I took the liberty of looking into this, and it turns out the person who rented out the vehicle is one of the missing persons on my list, Anthony Iffencade. Also,” she pulls out a strange device, “I bugged your office awhile ago, so when I had heard of the task you had set for yourself, I just had to jump on it.” I sputter a bit, becoming furious once more.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” She scoffs at my anger.

“Just a concerned citizen that doesn’t want to end up on that list. From what I can gather, the killer was impersonating Darla, so if you're on his trail, I want to help you so you don’t get yourself killed. I have no idea what he could want with the kid, but we can figure that out later. So, now that we have gotten all that out of the way, I ask you this, Mason. Will you let me on the case with you? Plus if it’s any consolation, I risked bringing you here to my hideout because this means a lot to me.” I sit in silence, turning this offer over in my head. If I decide to let this potential threat to national security on the case with me, she could very well help with finding the kid faster. And if she only wants to find the killer, then I shouldn’t have to worry about much. If I didn’t feel like I’m on some kind of timer, I would want to take more time in talking about this, but I don’t have much of a choice here. What if I say no, she just leaves me here?

“Only under a few conditions. First of all, after this is all done and over with, I want you to remove every chip and every connection you have ever had with me or on me. And second off, I can’t stop you from doing anything outside my work, so you better not bother me again after this. Deal?” Lorraine does not miss a beat in rushing over to untying me and responding.

“You have my word.” She pulls out a knife and cuts me free of the tight ropes. After stepping off the hand truck and regaining my balance, I turn to see her hand outstretched. I take and shake it, nodding to her. I check my pockets and belt to make sure everything is still in its place, and once confirming this, I clear my throat, resisting the urge to give her a piece of my mind.

“So, this Bryce fella, I think we should start by questioning him, don't you think?” Lorraine nods in agreement.

“After going over the files relating to him and his physique, I don’t think it is him, but we should still talk with him. Could have some whereabouts of his old colleague.” 

“I agree. Also, you mentioned before this idea of an omni-adapter, and how this killer uses his victims' heads to disguise himself? If that is the case, he could be literally anyone we run into, so be sure to keep your eyes on anyone who seems suspicious. Anyhow, enough gab, you can tell me more in the car.” I turn to head for the stairs.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t accuse me of being this impostor.” She says, following me. I let out a short laugh.

“I’m confident that if you were I’d be dead already.” I shake my head, taking the steps two at a time. I’m met with a door that has exactly twelve locks on it, and after a short moment I have them all opened, including the door itself. I walk out into a sort of employees lounge, a familiar scent hitting me as soon as I step out. Puzzled, I continue through as I push aside the portière blocking my way as everything starts making sense. A surprised voice greets me as I enter the drab yet welcoming phone shop.

“Oh my! Lorraine, dear, you didn’t tell me you were havin’ guests over.” I recognize Gabby immediately. I got most of the parts used for my current head here, and at such a reasonable price too. Looking out the window, I notice that it’s only starting to get dark. There goes my plans for the evening.

“Sorry Ma’am, was just a sudden occasion.” Lorraine says, pushing past me and toward the door. I eye her for a moment before bringing my attention back to Gabby. 

“Sudden occasion, hm?” Gabby says, jesting from what I can assume. This brings a chuckle from me, but Lorraine becomes rigid.

“It’s nothin’ like that! Now, can we please get a move on?” I raise a finger, turning to greet Gabby formally.

“It has been more than a blue moon since we last convened, has it not?” I begin, offering a hug. I can tell that Lorraine is getting very impatient, but I am going to milk this out for as long as I want.

“It has! How have you been, Mason? Is Sharon faring well?” Gabby asks, graciously taking up my offer and embracing me for but a moment.

“I’ve been well, thank you very much.” I glance over at Lorraine as I say this, who, in response, walks outside. “Sharon has been busy giving sewing lessons to people starting out, but it brings her much joy, so I guess you could say she's been okay.” 

“That is so good to hear. I suppose I shouldn’t keep you long, but we should all go out for dinner sometime soon, y’know? Could make for a good relaxing afternoon, for you and Sharon both.” 

“That sounds great! I’ll call you when I have had a chance to talk with her, but I should get going. We’ll catch up soon!” I say, waving as I head for the door.

“Stay safe out there now, ‘ever know what’s around the corner!” Gabby says cordially, waving me off. I nod to her as I push open the door and step out onto the cracked sidewalk. Taking a quick look around, I see that my car is parked not too far away from the entrance to the shop, and in the passenger seat sits the yellow shirted maniac. She is not just concerned for her own well being, no way. She wants something out of this, but whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as this potential serial killer that she thinks exists. I’ll play along for now, but when this all blows up in her face, I’m gonna pull the ‘I told you so’ card. Opening the driver’s door and settling in, I prepare myself mentally for this wild goose chase of a case. Lorraine is about to say something, but I speak first.

“First of all,” I begin, starting the car, “my trust in you is nonexistent as of right now, so you better be on point with everything you are saying, or I’m gonna start questioning your motives. Second of all, I…” My voice trails off as I pull out my phone to see four missed calls, all from Craig’s number.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, leaning over to see the screen. I quickly try to return the call, but with every ring my heart sinks further.

“It’s Craig, I think something's up. Do you by chance know where he would be right now?” I ask Lorraine. She pauses for a moment.

“I do. Since it is a weekday and judging by how late it is, he should be at his college dorm, or at least around that area.” I stare at her for a moment, unsure if this was accurate information.

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know this. Lemme guess, you know the room number too.”

“Room 209, second floor, obviously.” I nod slowly and step on the gas, heading for the only real college I know that exists in this town.

“I’m also going to assume it’s St. Fergensburg University?” I ask. She nods and I head down the streets toward the destination at an unreasonable speed. Lorraine quickly buckles herself in, clutching the sides of her seat nervously.

“Why are you like this all of a sudden? What’s wrong?!” Lorraine panically asks as I narrowly dodge a stray cat.

“No one just calls persistently to get someone's attention unless it’s urgent. If you are correct about this killer pretending to be Darla to get his hands on Greg, why would he stop there? Why not go after Craig as well? I might be overreacting here, but if my fears are right, then we have to act quick. Phone Christ only knows how long it’s been since those calls came through.” Lucky for me, this town isn’t that big, so getting across it can be done fairly quickly with a few speed regulations being broken. I can now see the building in sight, and as I turn the corner to head for the residential buildings, my heart sinks. Two police cruisers and a single ambulance, presumably on standby, are parked in the lot, lights flashing. A small handful of students are gathered outside, being questioned. I park on the side of the street and get out as fast as I can, Lorraine trying to keep up behind me. 

“Just stick next to me until we get in.” I say to her, walking through the lot and toward the doors. I stop and flag down one of the cops questioning the students, to which he makes his way over.

“You need something, Mason?” 

“Yeah, just want to know what the hell happened here.” I ask, trying to remember if I met this specific guy before.

“Well, multiple calls came in complaining about constant noise, and a few reported gunshots being fired on the premises. Were questioning some of the people who called in, but otherwise it just seems to be nothing.” I look around at the students in question, which isn’t that very many, but no Craig in sight.

“Have you gone inside at all?”

“Not yet. Me and the guys were wondering if we should or not, because nobody seems to be hurt. Was probably just a couple idiots passing by, it wouldn’t be the first time. You know how paranoid this school can get.”

“Yeah. Well, me and my partner here are gonna go in and look for you then, shouldn't be long.” Lorraine begins tapping her foot, and I turn and head toward the building once more.

“Alrighty, we’ll wait for you to come out, but once you do I think all of us are just going to head out, we’ve been here for just under an hour.” I give the officer a thumbs up just before I push the glass door open and head inside. Lorraine lags behind for a moment, and right when I’m about to call for her she rushes in, holding a small cell phone.

“Mason, look.” She hands over the phone that she picked up off the ground, and upon opening it, it’s apparent this is Craig’s. I stuff it into my pocket and continue on. 

“We need to get to Craig’s room.” Lorraine pushes ahead and I follow her. We turn onto a flight of stairs and scale them with the utmost of urgency in our step, opening another door that leads into a long hallway lined with doors and their corresponding numbers. Before I even step into the hallway, I can see one of the doors is open ajar, bent almost forty five degrees, splinters covering the floor. Lorraine and I rush up to it, and the plaque listing the door number also has the name of the occupant: Craig Fenton. The door is hanging outward into the hall, but is bent in a way that indicates it was kicked inward. Lorraine makes her way into the room and I follow in behind her. The first thing I see among the chaos of the trashed room is a man collapsed on the floor, blood dripping from the cracks on the lower section of his head. I walk over and grab him by his grimy denim jacket and sit him upright. The man groans from the sudden movement, placing his hands on my shoulder for support. I grab a colorful shirt from the ground and wipe up some of the blood, now seeing that he has a bandage on his head with the words ‘FUCKFACE’ written in what looks like marker.

“Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” I hold up my hand, showing three fingers. He looks up at me and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but manages to put together a few words.

“T-Three? Who are y-you? Where's Craig?” I glance over to Lorraine, who is currently going through random desk drawers. I turn my attention back to the strange man. 

“What is your name?”

“Randy Ja- oh heck!” Randy feels up to his head, taking in a sharp, pained breath.

“Hey, take it easy Randy. Can you tell me what happened?” 

“Happened…?” He looks around the room, and then down to the blood on his clothes. “I was… I came over to spend time with C-Craig and… time went by, we were o-on the bed c-cuddling and then someone tries to kick the door in. Craig tried calling for help, but whoever he was calling never picked up. A few minutes later the guy behind the door kicks it in enough to break. He came in a-and grabbed Craig f-from the bed and tried to drag him away. T-They struggled for a bit a-and Craig put up a good fight… but it was like the guy was trying not to hurt him. I t-tried to intervene, but… aw heck, he pulled a gun and I got nicked on the shoulder, so instead he hit me over the head and I fell over… I think.” Randy chokes up toward the end and starts to cry. I sigh, not wanting to have to comfort the guy.

“Do you remember what the guy looked like at all? Any significant features?” 

“W-well, he was buff, but like, not really? He was really fit but slender, like his muscles were trying to hide? Uhm… he had dark s-skin, and his head was a typewriter that had like… I don’t know, something spray painted on?” I stare at him dumbfounded, trying to remind myself he just took a hit to the head, and from what it looks like, this wasn’t the first time. I help him to his feet and wrap his arm around my neck.

“You done snooping?” I ask Lorraine. She turns to look at me after pulling out a drawer packed with extremely bright clothing.

“Yeah, les’ go. Nothin’ here to look at except his vibrant choice in clothing and a hidden drawer full’a hype.” I stop hobbling toward the exit and turn to her, Randy’s head smacking me in the process.

“Hype? Like, the drug?” 

“I know right? And it’s like… a scary amount too. I don’t even know where to get this stuff.” I shake my head and continue to head out.

“Poor kid…” I mutter. “Let’s go and get Randy here some medical attention.” Right after saying this, Randy tries to get out of my grasp for some reason, a panicked feel about him. “What is up with you?”

“P-Please, I can’t go back t-to the hospital, p-p-please!” I tighten my grip on him

“Settle down, you don’t have to, but at least get checked up on before we let you go.” This seemed to calm him somewhat, and without much resistance from the kid me and Lorraine make it out of the building. One of the paramedics looks up from their phone and makes their way over immediately, taking Randy from me.

“What’s damaged?” The medic asks, the question itself not directed to anyone in particular. I decide to speak up.

“He took a hefty blow to the head but other than that, he should be fine. A quick checkup would probably do him good though. Let’s head back to the car.” I say, the latter part directed at Lorraine. Lorraine pauses for a moment, then begins to follow.

“You're not goin’ to tell the officers about the scene in there?” She says, confused.

“No point.” I say, taking out my keys. “There’s nothing they can do at this point. They still will probably find out, but they know less than we do, so it’s best we keep this investigation to ourselves if we plan on getting to the bottom of this within a reasonable amount of time.” Lorraine goes around to the passenger side and we both climb in.

“Alright, I say that we head over to Bryce’s shack next and see what he has to say.” Lorraine begins, but I sit back and shake my head. She gives me a puzzled look.

“That wouldn’t be very smart. It’s getting dark, and heading out into the woods this late is dangerous. Plus, we don’t even know if the killer is onto what we're doing yet. I’m going to head home and sleep on the information we have. I want you to go back to Gabby’s and try to figure out any possible leads or patterns relating to all this. You want to help? This is how you can help.” I start the car’s engine. “We have learned a lot, but still we have learned almost nothing. We need something to follow, not a bunch of scattered breadcrumbs. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

“Of course. So, we head over to Bryce’s in the morning then?” She asks, buckling herself in.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll stop by to pick you around eight, alright?” She nods. 

The drive back to the phone shop is done in silence, a load of scattered puzzle pieces floating around in our heads. I stop and let Lorraine out once we arrive. She waves to me a goodbye, and I wave back, stepping on the gas once more back to my apartment. This all feels too strange to be true. There are now four people missing, all surrounding the same family. Is Edwin next? No… the reason Darla is missing, or even dead, is because the killer wanted Greg. And now Craig has been taken as well. If the killer wanted to do something to Edwin, he would have done so earlier. This has to be more personal than just methodical picking, but until I have something to go off of, there isn’t much I can do. Hopefully Bryce can shed some light on the situation, but that is if he isn’t the culprit himself. Parking the car in the same spot I left from this morning, I step out and head up the three flights of stairs, and walk two doors down until I get to mine. Unlocking the door, I walk in to find Sharon sitting at the dining room table with her sewing setup. She puts a hold on what she is doing to get up and embrace me. I hug her back, gently resting my head against hers.

“Lemme guess, another surprise job?” I nod, sighing heavily. “It’s alright, we can reschedule for some other night. You look tired, just go ahead and get some rest, I’ll join you shortly.” I ‘smile’ and retire to the bedroom, getting ready for bed, and preparing my mind for the upcoming day. This is not going to be easy.


	3. The Forgotten Four

“Mason, what the hell are you listening to?” Sharon yells from the other room. I lift my head from my pillow to hear a strange musical number violating my audial sensors, a jumble of sound trying to be music coming from somewhere in the room. Sitting up and stretching, the pain in my joints remind me of how terrible the mattress is and how badly I need to replace it. The noise seems to be coming from my jacket, and upon further investigation, I pull out Craig’s phone, the sound coming from its speakers. The caller ID simply reads ‘Lenny’. 

“Just give me a second honey!” I shout to Sharon as I flip open the phone and wait for a voice to answer.

“Yo broski! How's it hangin’? Look, I gotta keep things short for right now, man, but could I get a small shipment of those pebbles early? There’s this spot situated down by that old candy store that shut down about two years ago, and if me, Chelsie and the gang can seize that place first, we can have almost eight locations under our belt! Waddya say we try and kick Ulani out of the spotlight for once?” I stand in the middle of my room, the phone up to my head, intrigued by this strange person. 

“I’m sorry to inform you, but Craig isn’t available at the moment.” I say, setting aside some fresh clothes. I hear some murmuring coming from the other end.

“Uh… Is- Shit, who is this?” Lenny asks, a hint of worry in his voice. 

“Just a concerned acquaintance. I could pass on a message if you’d like.”

“Don’t see why you can’t just pass the phone over, but whatevs, I understand. Just let the man know that Lennard wants to talk to him. He should understand.” And with that, Lenny hangs up his end. I take the phone away from my head and look at the screen for a moment, breathing out an anxious sigh. I hope I can bring Craig that message eventually. I throw on a pair of jeans and a bland flannel, tossing my jacket over that once I’ve buttoned it up. I put the phone in my jacket pocket and secure my holster, finally turning toward the door and shaking the rest of the drowsiness from my head. Sharon turns her head toward me as I enter, offering me a mug of freshly made coffee. I wave my hand, declining, and with the same hand grab the counter as I stumble forward. “No, thank you, dear. I need to go right away.” She sets the mug down with a concerned hum and rests her hand on my back.

“You sure? Sounds like you have just barely been out of bed.”

“I’m fine, really.” She ushers me to the door, and I give her a small embrace before I open the door. “Hopefully this job won’t go on for much longer, but it requires my full attention.”

“It’s alright. Just come home in one piece, y’hear?” I nod, closing the door behind me. I take the stairs down a little slower than I usually do just in case I decide to fumble again due to my body still recovering from the dreamscape. With a forceful push, the glass entrance door swings open, almost smashing against the concrete wall as my legs take me outside to my poor excuse of a vehicular device. Before getting in, I notice my tread wear indicators showing, reminding me that I need to replace my tires, among a plethora of other parts. I’m lucky it hasn’t broken down yet. I get into the driver’s side once more and listen to the engine cough itself to life, making my way down the same roads toward Gabby’s shop. I just hope Lorraine has something to lead off of. I pull up to the side of the road to see Lorraine already waiting outside, and with a nod she gets up and jogs over to the car. 

“Please tell me you have something.” I ask as she settles into the seat. She waits till she has put her seatbelt on to respond.

“Well, I did find leads, but they all led to dead ends. This guy really doesn’t want to be found…” I hit the steering wheel in frustration.

“Dammit! How can one be such a menace to a society and not get found out by anybody!? I just don’t believe this is all the work of one man, it’s gotta be a group of people. A cult perhaps.” I step on the gas and start heading towards the forest. Lorraine looks at me strange.

“What the hell is with this sudden change? Are you now refuting the past evidence we’ve uncovered?” She asks.

“What past evidence? You mean the small snippets of information that all add up to a buncha horse shit? Who is to say that this isn’t multiple people? The person who attacked that Randy fellow and took Craig could have been a part of a bigger whole. Look, I’m not saying that this isn’t one person, I’m just… getting nervous. The more time we spend looking the more lost we seem to become.” I argue, letting out a nervous breath.

“I know we don’t have anything, yet, but maybe Bryce can hopefully shed some light. Let's just focus on that, then we can panic.” Lorraine reasons. I glance over at her for a moment, wanting to say something, but I just nod and turn onto the dirt roads that lead into the heavily forested area of Dialtown. Normally one like myself would enjoy coming out into the forest, but with everything going on, the only things I can see are places people could be ambushed, hid, and forgotten. I roll the windows down and try to enjoy the fresh air, listening to the trickles of streams flowing from random ponds, moss growing around the sides. We drive for about ten minutes and I get so lost in thought I almost don’t see the end of the dirt road we’re on.

“What the-!” I gasp as I slam on the breaks. Ahead of us, the road just abruptly stops, only a small path of trampled grass continuing forward.

“Is that a truck?” Lorraine asks, pointing out her window. I lean forward to try and get a good look, but just decide to step out of the car instead. I jog around to the other side to see a truck parked off the road in a thicket, any sign that the vehicle was ever painted being stripped away. Maybe due to the weather? I hear the car door slam shut as Lorraine gets out as well, walking up to a crooked mailbox, overflowing with letters. I follow as she picks one up.

“This is it, it’s addressed to Bryce Roberts. But where is his house…” Lorraine says, trailing off as she looks on ahead. I follow her gaze, now seeing a wooden sign nailed to a tree that reads ‘Auditors will be shot’. 

“Someone’s paranoid.” I chuckle, stepping over a bike and starting down the overgrown trail. “Good thing we aren't here to collect his taxes.” Lorraine scoffs at my attempt to lighten the mood as we try to navigate through brambles and other underbrush littering the path ahead. After a good five minutes of walking, a structure finally comes into sight, and boy is it a sight to behold. Set in the middle of a clearing is a jumble of different woods, metals, plastics, and even a few vehicles all cut and fit together to create an intimidating looking shack. Tall pillars of smoke billow out of a chimney made from car mufflers, the smell of freshly baked goods making its way to me.

“My goodness, this is… exotic.” Lorraine says, her words trailing off as she takes more of the sight in. I stare in awe, trying to figure why half of a camper is connected to the building. Shaking my head of the sudden surprise, I walk up the uneven porch and push aside some wind chimes made from thin sheets of copper. As they fall back against one another I knock on the wooden door, nodding to Lorraine as she catches up from admiring the place. The sound of footsteps nears the door from the other side, then stops. I raise my hand to knock again as a small section of the door swings open, revealing a single barreled shotgun now pointing at my face.

“State your business here ‘fore I end it.” A firm and gruff voice commands. Being caught off guard I shoot a worried look over to Lorraine, who shrugs in response, before answering. If by some chance that this is the man I’m searching for, then everything could end if I say the wrong thing. I hope I’m right.

“We’re here investigating the disappearance of a man named Greg Fenton and were hoping that you could help us with some information relating to it.” A short silence passes.

“Are you insinuatin’ that I had something to do with this?” 

“No! No no no of course not! Just want to talk is all.”

“How many of you are there?” 

“Just me and my… partner.” I say hesitantly, not sure what to refer to Lorraine in the situation. I step back as the door opens, a grizzly old man holding the same gun at his side blocking the way in. He stares at both me and Lorraine for a few seconds, his worn head, which at closer inspection has a bit of earthy growth in the cracks, stares daggers into my soul. He looks past us to the trees, maybe expecting a squadron to pop out.

“Alright then, hurry on inside, I have muffins in the oven.” Bryce moves to the side to let us pass. Lorraine takes the lead and enters, but before I can follow I’m stopped by him. “Your iron, son, hand it over.” I obey, taking out the sidearm from underneath my jacket and placing it in his open palm. Bryce lets out a short laugh as he steps aside. “Python hm? Quite the power to be packin’.” Nodding awkwardly, I enter into what I can only assume is the living room, the floor dipping toward the center. The inside of the house is more wild than the outside. None of the furniture matches, Christmas lights and other oddities snake along the ceiling, and there are about seven different wallpapers lining just only the living room. The door shuts, and as Bryce moves toward another doorway, I find myself captivated by a corroded, life sized statue of Callum Crown. It really captures his look, despite all the graffiti. Bryce stops what he's doing to comment on the piece I’m staring at.

“Foun’ that old thing in a lake, never was able to find where it came from though. Anyways, make yourself comfortable I suppose, I’ll be out in a jiffy!” Bryce says in a booming voice, snapping me back into reality. I turn my attention back to the living room and decide to take a seat in an armchair that is next to the couch Lorraine is sitting upon already. 

“This is goin’ to be interestin’.” Lorraine whispers to me. I nod, sitting up straighter as Bryce comes back into the room with a tray lined with what looks and smells like cornbread muffins. He sets the tray down on two lockers that have been repurposed as a coffee table, and sits down across from both me and Lorraine.

“Help yourself, since you decided to barge into my abode on such short notice. We also have fresh well water in the kitchen if you get thirsty.” Bryce says, obviously annoyed by our presence. “Now, you wanted to question me?”

“Yes, I… wait, ‘we’?” I ask, my vision gandering about the room for any signs of anybody else.

“Pardon me for being vague, my fiancé is visiting here at the moment.” Bryce sits back in his chair, one of his freshly baked muffins in hand.

“Will she be joining us?” Lorraine inquires.

“He excused himself to the bathroom just before you two came a knockin’.” He states, his tone flat. Lorraine shifts uncomfortably in her spot as I clear my throat.

“Well, that shouldn’t matter none. So, Mr. Roberts-”

“Please, just call me Bryce.” He interrupts. I pause for a moment before continuing.

“Alrighty then, Bryce, you were among the four engineers that developed the now illegal... omni-adapter, correct?” He stops all motion, halfway bit into a muffin. After setting it back onto the tray, Bryce crosses his arms, staring me down. Did I just delve into a forbidden topic of his?

“What does that have to do with your investigation?” Bryce prods with a cold stare.

“I promise you, we are not pointing fingers here or pulling up any past allegations that may or may not have been pinned against you, all we want is some questions answered. There may be some lives at stake right now.” I plead, trying to keep a cool head. I still want to leave this place in one piece.

“I see. Fine. So, what exactly about it do you want to know?”

“Like, how did it start?” I shrug.

“Well, if you must know, the whole project was a group effort. Samantha, Romerro, Kelly and I all worked in the same building on the same products with somewhat of the same education. We weren’t just coworkers, we all had gone to the same schools and decided that if we just stuck together, everything would work all hunky-dory. The four of us ended up all bunking in the same apartment, and got the same jobs.” I can tell he is getting a little sidetracked, but I decide to let him banter. Looking over to Lorraine, it seems she has the same idea. “But anyways, we would schedule time outside of work to experiment and brainstorm ideas of something that could possibly change the town, or hell, even the world! It took a few months and a lot of botched projects before the idea finally hit us though.”

“Hold on,” Lorraine chimes in. I give her a quizzical look. “I always thought it was four men. Who is Samantha?” 

“Well, back then it was a bit confusing, but now we have terms for such things. Samantha was a transgender female, but sadly didn’t live long enough to take any actions toward her identity.” Bryce explains. Lorraine nods slowly.

“How did she die?” I ask, halfway through my second muffin.

“I will get there when I get there.” Bryce responds dryly. “Now where was I… Ah, that’s right! All of us were talking about how much we hate the new supervisor and were waiting for Romerro to arrive. When he did come bustling through the door, he wouldn’t stop complaining about how difficult it was to get your head swapped out with something new. From getting your vitals safely transferred to a new casing, to the cost of getting the adapter plug to match yours, he ranted about it all. Eventually Kelly slammed his fists on the table to get Romerro’s attention and said ‘well then let's do something about it!’” Bryce stands up, charging his fist into the air and his foot onto the table, imitating the scene from what I could tell. I give a little chuckle, almost choking on the muffin. I turn to look at the hallway, seeing something that actually does cause me to choke though. Standing there in just a black bathrobe is Carl. I never expected to see him anywhere but my office or Bunny’s alleyway.

“What the- who is- B-Briggs?!” Carl exclaims, clutching the robe to his body. Bryce waves a hand toward him.

“Come sit. I’m recounting a tale and I would not like to lose my spot again.” Carl stammers for a moment, but decides to keep quiet and sit next to Bryce. “And so we all got to work on designing a solution. It was the perfect plan that would benefit everybody! Over the course of a month, we used parts that we already had and parts that we stole from the factory to create a multifarious adaptor. Think about it, it saves the consumer money and since people can switch out heads so often, it would create trends, wardrobe options! Production companies would make bank from the increase of heads that they would have made. Albeit, head surgery would still have been tricky, but, with the coming of the adaptor, more folks would get all the fleshy bits relocated to their chest.” He sits back down, taking a moment to breathe. “This all would have been the case if Samantha hadn’t gone talking about it to other people though. Word spread and before we could even get the first push of the product out, the authorities shut our whole operation down. They said that what we were doing was against the law. Those laws written by stuck up fat cats are so outdated, they need a change. But alas, I suppose it was never meant to be… All of us were laid off for that whole shebang and not even a month later Samantha was murdered. Romerro, who was hellbent on making our creation an everyday thing, got arrested. Kelly cut off all contact with me shortly after getting fired, and I haven't heard from him since. As for me, you could say the situation shook me up a bit. I moved outside the reach of the law and built this entire house myself. I got a little paranoid from Samantha’s murder, so as you can understand I’m very straightforward when it comes to strangers that decide to walk all the way out here.” Bryce finishes, reaching for one of the few muffins left. I let Bryce take a moment to eat before I ask another question. Carl sits silently in his chair as he listens in to all of this, still looking a tad flustered. Lorraine is leaning back against the couch, deep in thought.

“Can you tell us more about Kelly?” I ask, breaking the silence. Bryce looks at me strangely.

“Why Kelly of all people?” He asks.

“We think that he might be the one we are looking for.” Lorraine replies, still on her first muffin. Carl seems to become more attentive by this statement. I glance at him before returning my attention to Bryce.

“No, that can’t be right. Kelly was such a kind and affectionate person, I can’t even fathom him doing anything malicious.” Bryce sounded hurt by our accusation towards Kelly.

“Nobody ever does till it happens. Do you know why he just disappeared suddenly?” I ask, hoping to get more information out of him.

“Can’t think of a reason. He was almost just as passionate about the project as Romerro was, maybe all that effort lost had broken him? I know that in highschool he always wanted to be a master surgeon. Maybe he went off the grid to pursue that dream. I just… to think that he would resort to crime- and for what reason?” Bryce was beginning to become exasperated by even the thought of this. “There was a rational reasoning of his for disappearing like that, and I’m not going to help you find him! He obviously doesn’t want to be found so just let the sleeping dog lie, dammit.” Bryce spits out the last words, now furious with us for even questioning Kelly’s moral principles. He then rises from the chair and takes the tray, returning to the kitchen. Carl gets up as well, but instead heads back down the hallway rather than follow Bryce into the kitchen. I sigh, feeling defeated. We are no more closer than we were when we first started. Even if I did manage to milk more from him, it would probably just be a waste of time. I look over to Lorraine for any input, but she just shrugs, most likely as unsure as I am.

“We should go, nothin’ more for us here.” Lorraine says, brushing dust and dirt from her pants.

“I agree, just have to retrieve something first.” I reply, sucking in a nervous breath as I walk into the kitchen, which happens to be just as enigmatic as the rest of the place. Bryce is occupying himself with washing some dirty dishes in a makeshift sink as I approach. I clear my throat before speaking. “I apologize for marching out here and trying to get possibly sensitive memories out of you. If I could get my gun back, me and my partner will be on our way.” I say, hoping the strange elder won’t snap at me. Bryce lets out a long sigh, looking the other way, but soon steps away from the sink. He reaches behind himself and pulls my revolver from his back pocket, holding it out toward me by the barrel.

“If you do find Kelly,” he begins as I take back my gun, “tell him to come talk to me. Please.” His voice was quiet and gentle, a sudden change from his intimidating tone. I slowly nod, securing my firearm.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright. Now get goin’ fore’ I decide to keep you around for some house work.” He jests with a wave. I turn around, hearing someone running through the house. I peek out into the living room to see Carl, fully dressed now, bolting across the living room floor and to the front door. He throws it open and disappears outside, the door crashing against the wall and causing a section of wood to fall off.

“What in the name of Rotary Christ?” Lorraine yelps, having been in the way of Carl’s rampage. “What was he holding?”

“No idea. What has gotten into him?” I run over to the door just in time to see Carl darting down the trail. A bad feeling begins to form in my gut as I watch him run with such a mad fervor. My legs are already pumping after him before I realize what is happening.

“Mason, wait up!” Lorraine yells after me, the plea not reaching me fully, my breath being the only thing resonating within my head. I can still barely see him up ahead, pushing through every bush and branch that litters this unkempt path. My breath gets knocked out of me as my foot gets caught in a rut, my body slamming into the muddy dirt. I quickly wipe the dirt from my visual sensors and jump back up, my shoes digging into the soft earth as I continue the pursuit. I almost slip backward as a painful popping sounds from up ahead. Eventually, I make it back to the clearing where the dirt road ended. Carl is almost out of sight again, peddling on the bike from the pile of garbage. I reach for my side, but hesitate. Where the fuck is he going?

“Hey! Stop! What… and he's gone.” I shout, unsure of what just happened. I turn to see Lorraine coming into the clearing, gasping for air.

“Did you… did you catch up to him? Also, what hell was that sound?” Lorraine says, the lack of air making her voice raspy.

“No, and I have no idea. Quick, get in, let’s follow him.” I direct, rushing over to the drivers side of the car.

“Hey, Mason? About that…”

“I swear- what now?” I walk back over to where she is standing, then follow her gaze down to the back tire, which has been popped, no doubt about it. Picking up a flap of the deflated rubber, I find a large gash boring a hole into it. I slam my fists onto the roof of the car, letting my frustration out in the form of a rage induced scream. “That fucking rat! He knows something… we have to find him, it may be our only lead. We have to…” I begin to cough from exerting myself, the cold air feeling like needles going down my throat. Lorraine pats me on the back.

“Hey, look, we may not be able to catch up to him right now, but the longer we wait out here the more time he has to plan his next move. Lets go.” Lorraine says, starting down the dirt road. I look up to the sky. The sun is setting, and from the looks of it, it might rain soon. After shaking a bit of mud off of me and making sure the car is locked, I join Lorraine in the long, grueling walk back to town.


	4. Fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Gore and minor body horror

“Either everybody's phone is on silent, or I am being blatantly ignored.” I say to mostly myself, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. Many attempted calls and almost two hours of walking since we had gotten to the car, I can now see the town’s lights peeking through the dense forest. I look up to the sky again, hoping that any rain threatening to come down would hold off for just a little bit longer. Maybe I should try calling somebody from Craig’s phone.

“Have you tried calling your wife? You are married, right?” Lorraine asks. She has been mostly silent through the entire trek, and I almost forgot she was walking next to me.

“Yes, I am married, but there is no point in calling her. She can’t drive, nor does she have a vehicle of any kind.” I sigh, the effects of all that has happened wearing down on me. “Hell, even a tandem bike would be helpful right now.”

“I feel like we would have a harder time pedaling through some of the mud patches back there, maybe even getting stuck. Walking is still probably the…” Lorraine stops as she meets my unamused stare and returns her focus back to the road.

“I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t need to hear you go on about bikes right now.” Lorraine stays silent as I look back to the buildings in the distance.

“Do you love her?” Lorraine speaks up again. I look back over to her with a baffled look, unsure what she was trying to get at.

“You mean Sharon?” I ask back. She nods. “Why are you suddenly interested in my relationship?”

“Look, I didn’t mean anything when I asked, just if I have to walk another mile in silence I might go insane. So could you stop bein’ so irksome and just converse with me?” Lorraine says, her voice wavering as she tries to keep a cool tone. I shouldn’t have been so defensive about that question, all this tension from the investigation is starting to get to me, and I imagine she is in the same boat with the matter.

“I’m… sorry. I don’t mean to be like this. I’m just nervous is all, and I know you probably are too.” I begin as she nods. “Do I love my wife? Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have married her.”

“What do you do when you're not out doing… this?” She questions. This is starting to feel less like a conversation and more like an interrogation on my character.

“Well, lets see… when I have spare time, it’s usually spent with Sharon. She always ropes me into whatever hobby she's pursuing at that point in time. I know how to sew, crochet, and even slow dance a little, among other things because of her. When she is busy doing something else and I don’t have work, which is very rare mind you, I like to work on carving out my diorama of Dialtown.” I say with a bit of pride.

“How far have you gotten?”

“I’ve almost finished the entirety of Downtown, actually. It started to take up so much space in the apartment that I have to rent out a storage unit for the time being.” I explain, laughing a little. “What about you? What do you do in your… well, I don’t know what spare time means for you, but you know what I mean.” Lorraine snickers at my statement.

“I get it. I’m always out tryin’ ta dig up dirt about people, companies, or even just the gubmint in general. I compile it all and post it as individual articles on my website so people can always be informed. The people should always be in the know!” She states matter-of-factly. “Well… that's usually what I do when I’m not paying my rent by working for Gabby. She has always been way too generous to me. I hope to repay her properly in the future. Speaking of which, how do you know Gabby?”

“She knew my parents, and used to babysit me when I was young. We stayed somewhat connected ever since.” I answer. Lorraine lets out an audible ‘hmph’ a short moment after. I’m about to ask more when something catches my attention. I hold a hand out, signaling for Lorraine to stop. The sound of two voices talking makes its way to me from somewhere off the dirt road. I begin to slowly push through the vegetation, one careful foot in front of the other until I come to a small clearing. Standing upright with a video camera in hand, wearing a red flannel and a fez to match is someone with a corded phone for a head. I thought they stopped making corded heads after that one incident with the elevators? Following the camera’s direction, I see a very strange, very green humanoid. It has a rotary head, but the head looks as if it is stitched… wait, those are indeed stitches.

“Okay, now look as if you're prowling through the tall- stop eating the grass! We need it for the scenery!” The man in the fez shouts, laughing to himself. The creature rolls onto its back.

“But I’m hungry! And this grass tastes way better than the stuff around my tent!” It says. Oh my, it speaks.

“I will buy you a whole bag of freshly cut grass if it means you’ll do the scene.” The fez man pleads with the cryptic being.

“Fine. But I also want one of those meat cylinders, free of charge!” After that line, I slowly turn around to head back to the road. I don’t have time to be dawdling because of… whatever the hell that was. Lorraine follows behind after staying to observe a bit longer. Once returning to the road, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Just ahead of us is the outskirts of town, specifically the divide that connects to Uptown Dialtown. I begin moving with the comfort of knowing that we’re in town again, Lorraine following close behind in my stride.

“So, where first?” Lorraine asks. I catch myself as I almost trip on the uneven concrete.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going after… whoever that was that ran back there, aren’t we? He obviously knows something about all of this, or else he wouldn’t have ran.” She explains, seemingly baffled by my not understanding.

“Not possible.” I begin, pausing for a moment. “Well, not possible as or right now. He could be anywhere right now, and from what I know about him, he could actually be anywhere in this town.”

“C’mon, he has to have some common places he visits, or-”

“He’s come to me on multiple occasions in the past asking for a loan. I barely know the guy. You know what that tells me? It means he might go to just about anybody for food, shelter, or money.” I march on, my nervousness starting to meddle with me.

“Are you saying you're just giving up? You can’t do that, we are so-”

“Good lord, I’m not dropping the case!” I yell. “I’m just saying that we’re stuck in the same ditch we started in. No leads, nothing gained, two people lost.” I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “I think we should just lay low for a while till we can follow something solid, you know? I don’t want to risk my life going after any more of your hunches.” Was that a little too straightforward? Does it even matter?

“I’m sorry, I just- I want-” Lorraine begins, but something snaps in me. Maybe it's the late hour, or the constant running around from the last couple days. I turn on my heel to face her.

“Recognition? Popularity? If I’m not mistaken, that is exactly what you wanted my help for. This is serious!” I shout. “I’m out here trying to save lives, and you just want to be able to bait people into your little fantastical, crack-pot theorizers blog, or whatever it is.” She rubs the side of her arm, staring at the ground. A second passes, and my right hand charges forward at the side of a building, smacking against it with enough force to cause my knuckles to start bleeding. I let out a shaky sigh as I sit down against the wall, my head in my hands. Lorraine steps over to the wall, sliding down it with her back until she is sitting next to me. A silence hangs in the air, the only sounds coming from the cars passing by. I take a few breaths to collect myself before opening my mouth again.

“I… I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that, I know you care, and I know this has been stressful on you too- god, I don’t know what's come over me…” I start to say, flexing my bloodied hand in pain. I look up to her only to see her staring off to the side, not paying attention. I look back down, ashamed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Lorraine states.

“But it’s not! This whole trail of aimless crumbs we’ve been following has been for naught, and it;s not like we can bail out when Carl appears to know something we don’t.”

“I mean, we could give up…”

“But what if this killer comes after us next? We may know too much, even if it feels like we don’t know much of anything at this point.” I argue. “Fuck… why me? Why did you pick me? I’m just a lone investigator that people can go to when they don’t feel comfortable with the DTPD. And hell, what do we even do when we do find the person? We could be next in a long line of investigations he has taken care of.”

“I hate that you may be right.” She stands back up. “So, retire and reconvene tomorrow?”

“That might be the best option right now.” I rise as well and follow Lorraine. Streetlights and signs start to flicker to life as we continue down the broken up sidewalk. The sun is now hidden behind the tall buildings, the sky changing from pinkish hues to a now deep murky blue. I get so entranced by it that I lose my footing and trip onto the ground.

“Sorry! I should have mentioned that was there.” Lorraine offers her hand, upon taking it she helps lift me back up. I turn to see the culprit, a banged up bike lying in front…

“Wait a damn second, that's the bike! That means Carl is…” I exclaim, looking up to the store that it was dropped in front of. Spares and Wares.

“Spares and Wares?” Lorraine inquires.

“It’s an old thrift shop, got my head here actually, when I switched it, that is. Not bad pricing either.” Taking a peek through the large windows, the place appears to be fairly busy despite the hour, but no sign of Carl amidst the crowd. “Well, I got my casing here, but everything else was purchased separately.”

“Huh. So… should we go in and look for him, and if so, what's the plan?”

“Of course we’re going in, this might be our only shot at getting to the bottom of this. Just be very careful and keep an eye out for anything. If Carl was heading off to either secure something, or warn somebody, then we need to keep our heads on a swivel.” I move to the side, away from the view of the windows.

“I don’t think we’re going to find him in the main part of the store.” Lorraine adds. I nod in agreement.

“I don’t think so either. If we don’t find him in the store, I’m going to sneak into the back. Think you can keep anyone from following me when the time comes?”

“As long as I can without seeming suspicious. And if things go south?” She asks.

“Lets just hope it doesn’t come to that. But if it does… improvise.” I say with a hopeful shrug, walking over to the glass doors. Taking in a deep breath, I push open one of the doors and step into the carpeted outlet. This place hasn’t changed a bit since I’ve last been here, yellowed lighting, green carpeting, and still only one man running the entire place from what I can gather. The man in question is hunched over the front counter, writing in a small ledger. His head looks up as soon as Lorraine and I enter the building, and I’m reminded of just how tall he is, although a decent portion of his height is due to his head.

“Welcome!” The man titled ‘Franklin’ from his pin says. “Are you looking for a new case, or perhaps some stylish threads?”

“We’re just perusing for now.” I quickly state.

“Well, if you need anything, just flag me down. I’ll be sure to see you.” Franklin’s voice is deep and resonant, matching finely with his dense, yet thin stature.

“Will do.” I say, nodding to him as I turn to go deeper into the store. The amount of racks displaying items is all closely packed together to make room for more, from what I can guess. It’s almost like a maze with old jackets and other articles of clothing pushing up against me from both sides. As per constant with any type of thrift store, there is a large amount of clothes and small trinkets, but farther in the back is a couple rows of empty head casings for sale, ranging from your basic factory issue rotary to some more exotic choices, such as a metronome. But close to that row is a selection I haven't seen before. Shelves lining the wall have canvas after canvas propped up, every image painted only with shades of red. I almost get too caught up in admiring some of the landscaping pieces, every shade tuned to capture the depth perfectly, the canvas itself becoming a color used to complete it. I shake my head and return to the task at hand. Glancing back over to the front counter, Franklin appears to be occupied once more. Lorraine is busy perusing the store, and from what I can see from my position, Carl is nowhere to be seen. Time for plan B. Checking once more on Franklin, I begin to move closer to the back of the store until I see a door labeled ‘employees only’. Not wasting a second, I push it open and quickly shut it behind me.

Ahead of me is another door, and from the cold draft I feel licking at my ankles, it’s safe to assume it leads outside. To either side of me are staircases, one going up to a set of apartments, and the other descending into a basement. No point heading upstairs, and if Carl went out the exit, he would be long gone by now. I take the stairs down into a smooth concrete hallway with aged plaster peeling off the walls. Shortly after reaching the bottom, I come upon three more doors, two of which look about ready to fall off their hinges. Reaching my hand over to the knob of the door that looks relatively intact, I slowly pull it open to reveal a very cluttered closet. Boxes upon boxes are stacked to the ceiling, metal shelves stuffed to their edges with junk, and a small mattress crammed into a corner with a headless body lying on top of it. Who is that? Is it…

“Holy shit…” I murmur, gently shaking the body. It moves, reaching blindly around. I shudder. This is Craig, no doubt in my mind that it is. The blue, green, and purple tie-dyed shirt accompanied by pink pajama pants… how is he still alive? Where his head should be there is a small foam ball covering his lung port, his adaptor showing no signs of damage. All I can hear from him is slow, raspy breaths. With no mouth to speak from, and no way to scream, he continues to reach around aimlessly, every attempt to stand up ending in him collapsing onto the mattress.

“I’ll be back for you.” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear me. Stepping out into the hallway, I move to the door right across it. Turning the knob, I discover that it’s locked, and after jigging it a bit I give up and turn to the last door. I barely brush my hand against it as it swings open, creaking loudly on its rusted hinges.

“What in the world?” I mumble, staring at a giant iron door towering up about seven feet, a combination lock placed dead center on it like a knocker. I steel myself, stepping toward the almost gate-like passage, and as I get closer, I notice that the door is open by just a hair. I quickly look behind me to make sure nobody is there. Why is it open? Something about this doesn’t feel right, this feels way too easy. I pull my revolver out, keeping it at the ready as I push open the metal door to see… nobody. The door swings open to a large room devoid of any people. Not missing a beat I step in and try to position the door as it was before, then, I turn to see what the room has to offer. The overwhelming scent of bleach is the first thing I notice, aside from the glossy black floor. The room itself is almost fifty feet across and about fifteen feet wide, metal tables, gurneys, and shelves making up most of it, and just due to the size of the room it feels like a small warehouse. As I slowly walk forward and gaze upon all the sharp tools, large and small, more of the truth starts to come to light in my mind. Is this den, with its white lighting and surgical setup, being used to… no, I need more proof. Another large metal door stands to my left, this time with a square window providing a look inside. I rush over to it and place my hand on the handle, but reel back from the cold sting I receive.

“A freezer?” A sharp chill hits me as I open it, and an even deeper chill roots me to the spot. Headless bodies, stripped of their clothes and life are hanging by small hooks embedded in their shoulders. Row after row hang in front of me, motionless and pale, a tag threaded onto the left ankle of each one like recently caught animals. I stagger back and shut the door, trying my best not to empty my practically vacant stomach onto the floor. One hand up against the wall and the other covering my nutrient hatch, I try to calm my nerves that are screaming at me to run, to get as far from this nightmare as possible. Were these people being used for organ trafficking? Are the heads upstairs the… do I have a dead man’s head? No… no, focus, have to find Carl, or Greg, or… I rush across the room to another door, and with shaking hands I throw it open, catching the door before it slams against the wall. I reach over and find the lightswitch, flooding the pitch black room with a more red tinted hue, a drastic change from the last room. Why are the bulbs red? Making my way in and sidestepping between a few capped paint cans, I’m faced with a few canvases propped up on easels, very similar to the ones upstairs, but these appear to be unfinished. Three of them are of different stores that can be found downtown, but one is of what I think is Greg, or at least when he was doing better than when I saw him last. I rush to leave, and in my haste I misstep and fumble over a paint can, which topples over and spills a very runny paint onto the floor. I pay no attention to it as I stumble the rest of the way to the door and back into the main room. This place isn’t safe, I need to leave, alert Lorraine and devise a plan. Well… the store should be safe, nothing would happen in the eyes of the public. The back door, I should get Craig to safety, but what about Lorraine? Alright, I’ll just go-

“Figured you’d be down here, pesky rodent.” A deep, resonant voice says. I snap my attention toward the exit to see Franklin slowly moving towards me, a metal bat in one hand and Craig in the other being used as a shield, or as much as he can with the size difference. I raise my iron at him, gripping it with two unsteady hands.

“Keep your distance! Drop the kid!” I yell at him, slowly backing up as Franklin gets closer.

“Now why should I do any of that?” His tone is cold and unnerving, a far contrast from earlier. He tightens his grip on Craig, causing the boy to flinch, his legs kicking out wildly. “You hold no authority down here, not like you had any to begin with.”

“Get back, dammit!” I shout, pulling back the hammer. The distance between us is unsettling, and I’ve almost reached the back wall. Franklin is picking up the pace, but he is not protecting his head, why the hell is he not protecting his head of all things? I can’t wait any longer, he’s almost upon me. My finger tightens around the trigger, and with the fall of the hammer I instantly realize my mistake. The bullet finds its mark and drives right through Franklin’s head, but he keeps moving. The second it hits him he dashes forward, throwing Craig at me and blocking my view. I slam into the back wall from the impact, Craig’s flailing body falling to the side and my gun clattering to the floor. I reach for it but a boot slams down on it before I can touch it, and as I raise my head to look up a solid fist meets the side of my head.

“Agh!” The revolver is slid away from reach as a chilling laugh erupts from Franklin. I manage to catch myself on a wooden table, the pain in my head immense. Man, he’s got a strong right hook…

“This is going to be entertaining.” Franklin coos, the bat swaying by his side. Standing back up straight I scan the room for anything to defend myself with, but other than the pile of metal pipes next to the exit, there isn’t many options. Won’t be able to get close enough with a knife, and he looks like he could break my arms if I were to go in for a hit. Franklin chuckles as he rears up the bat, preparing to take a few swings towards me. With a table behind me, and not enough space to run past him, I rest both my hands on the edge of the table. He steps forward, charging the bat toward my legs, and with all my strength I push down on the table and launch myself upward, thrusting my legs out. Franklin staggers back as my shoes make contact with his gut.

“Rat has teeth, I see.” He seethes as I begin to shoot past him. My victory lap is cut short through, the sharp impact of metal on bone searing through my right leg. The hard floor meets me as I collapse from the blow, my hands scrambling for the gun not even a foot away. My finger brushes the handle right as I feel Franklin grab my ankles and drag me back, a soft hum coming from his throat. I flip myself onto my back and try kicking free, only to be met with a quick slug to my chest, knocking the breath out of me. The room begins to warp and the urge to retch those muffins out almost becomes too much. He drags me back to the table, lifts me by the shirt and holds me there, reaching behind me for something.

“Don’t make me nail you to the table, now” He taunts, pulling out a fillet knife from the wall, inching it toward my shoulder. Struggling doesn’t work, his grip is too firm, I can’t move. He cuts through my shirt and into my flesh, my screams and his laughter filling every corner of the room. I-

“Mason!” I turn to where the voice is coming from, and there in the doorway is Lorraine, looking on in absolute horror. I try and pull away in this moment of distraction, but Franklin is already a step ahead of me. He punches me straight in the gut and grabs my arm, slamming it down onto the table, driving the knife through my hand and into the table. The pain from before is still burning as this happens, my only reaction being a sharp gasp. Reaching a shaking hand over, I try to remove it, but he really got it stuck in there, it won’t even wiggle. Franklin ignores my attempts at escape and instead starts to walk toward Lorraine, picking up the bat from the floor on his way. I continue to yank at the knife, more intensely now that I know what we're dealing with. This guy is a psychopath, and if I can’t get out of this… I don’t even want to think about it.

“You look familiar.” Franklin murmurs. Lorraine, frantically looking around, grabs one of the long metal pipes lying next to the door and holds it up defensively. Franklin chuckles at this, gripping the bat tighter as he swings at her. She jumps back, pipe still in hand. Dammit , why won’t this damned thing pull ou-

“Wheee!” A high pitched voice says, followed by the sound of wood snapping and splintering coming from the hallway. This catches Franklin’s attention, and something about his demeanor… surprise? Nervousness?

“Get out of my way.” He orders, walking toward the door. Lorraine rears back and then swings the pipe, managing to hit Franklin in the side.

“You’re not going anywhere!” She yells, preparing another attack. Franklin winces and raises the bat above his head.

“Tainted sheep!” He bellows, charging the bat down at Lorraine. She raises the pipe to block the hit, but he stops mid swing and instead grabs the pipe, raises it up, and kicks her stomach. Lorraine falls back against the wall and onto the floor, gasping for air.

“Lorraine!” I shout, but it’s too late. As she manages to sit up and raise her head, Franklin drives his knee into her head multiple times, smashing the screen and most of her innards. My body starts to tremble as blood pours out of her casing and onto the floor. I look to the knife and make the quickest decision I’ve ever made. Preparing myself, I grab my arm and pull away from the blade, screams filling my head as my hand splits in two. I don’t have much time. Franklin notices what's happening, but before he can move I dive to my firearm. The sound of his footsteps running across the room fill my head as my intact hand wraps around the gun and aims. I fire without a second thought, the bullet going right through his chest. A moment after, Franklin’s limp body falls onto me, leaving me gasping for air.

“Get… off me!” I yell, my voice strained. Holy shit this guy is heavy. With a grunt and a gasp, I manage to roll him off me. The pain in my hands starts to reveal itself to me, the mangled mess that it is pooling crimson on the black concrete. I stand up and look around with my hazing vision, and then I remember.

“Lorraine!” I call out, hobbling over to her. Her body is slumped over and twitching, bits of fleshy matter spilling onto the ground. I turn away and gag, tears running down my busted casing. This can’t be happening. It all happened so fast, this can’t be real…

“God… no…” I sob, walking back over to Franklin who is now laying in a spill of his own blood. “You bastard!” I kick him repeatedly until my foot starts to hurt. If only… what is that smell? Is that smoke? I look to the hallway once more to see small wisps of smoke pouring down from the stairs, the door that was jammed earlier now destroyed, pieces lying everywhere. A fire? Why would there be… no time. I have to leave. I look around the room for Craig, who is feeling along the wall blindly for a way out, tripping over his own feet every few steps. He bumps into a gurney and loses his balance, falling over as I walk to him and lift him up with my good hand. I glance at Lorraine once more, then shake my head. There is no recovering from what she just went through. She's gone.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, guiding Craig with one hand to the stairwell, but while passing the once locked room I see leaves covering every inch of the floor, and drawings lining the walls. I don’t stare long though, pushing myself closer to the stairwell. As I start to ascend the steps, I see a heavy blanket of smoke filling the air, so much so that I can’t see a thing through it. I begin gasping for air, pulling Craig along to the best of my ability, feeling around with my numb hand for the backdoor. I make contact with a door and push it open, stumbling out into the dark alleyway, the smoke from before billowing out from the building. Craig and I collapse onto the concrete, forcing air into our lungs as the heat of the fire warms up the cold night. My body shakes with every breath, a small puddle of blood from my hand pooling next to me… I’m bleeding. I doff my jacket and my flannel, and with one hand and a foot I tear up the latter to the best of my ability. Using these strips of cloth to bandage myself, I start with my shoulder, then move on to my hand.

“Aaaagh!! Sweet mother of god!” I scream through clenched jaws, the two halves of my split hand pressing against each other as the bandage tightens. I collapse against a wall, the pain almost unbearable. Craig has given up at trying to run, his body flat against the ground. The ringing in my head starts to subside, the sounds of the sirens and people screaming increasing. I could have saved her. I could have let my hand go sooner. We should have waited, had backup, hell, anything more would have changed the outcome…

“Sir, are you alright?” A cop says, a few boys in blue rushing over to me and Craig. I could have thrown something.

“Can you hear me? Sir, please, it isn’t safe here!” I never should have taken the case. I should have stopped whilst I was ahead.

“I will carry you if I have to! Is he alive?” An older officer appears from behind the one speaking to me, motioning for him to grab Craig. The older of the two kneels in front of me.

“Briggs? Speak to me buddy.” He reaches over to my shoulder but I bat him away before he can touch me. I get myself to my feet and begin to slowly walk towards home, my mind spinning.

“Hey! You are in no condition to be going anywhere, Mason!” He shouts.

“Tell that to my badge” I retort through a pained breath.

“I’ll be telling that to your wife if you're not-” His sentence and my footing is cut off short as Spares and Wares and the apartments above it explode into a ball of flame, windows shattering and parts of the walls crumbling in the chaos. Something snaps in my head. I rise up and start running. From the fire. From the evil. From the guilt. Everything passes by me in a blur, my head pounding from the agonizing hurt. I run into random people taking nightly strolls or just trying to get home, their annoyed words not fully reaching me. I don’t stop running until I make it back to my apartment. Blood smears onto the handle when I throw the front entrance open, the railing getting the same treatment as I take the stairs two at a time. It’s not until I reach my door that I realize I’m shirtless and jacketless, and without my keys. I knock four times.

“Sharon! Please, open the door!” I yell, my voice almost akin to a whimper. A few seconds pass, and I’m about to knock again as she opens the door.

“Where have y- oh my goodness! What happened to you?!” She gasps, rushing me inside.

“I… It’s hard to explain.”

“Why haven't you gone to a hospital?” She notices my annoyed look. “Sorry, the hospital.”

“I don’t know…” She ushers me to the bedroom, sitting me down on a part of the bed that isn’t covered in her sewing setup.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” She commands, walking rather fast in such a small apartment. A few moments later she returns with some rags and half a bottle of gin. “Show me your hand first.” I comply, looking away. The TV is on, tuned to a fairly reputable news network, Trumpeter News. Sharon must have been watching while she was sewing.

“Agh! Watch it!” I yelp as she unravels the bandage.

“Not my fault. You could have gone to the ER and had proper sedatives. Speaking of which, we are going as soon as I make sure you wont get infected.”

“Yes, honey.” I avert my attention to the screen, the live broadcast catching film of the now smoldering rubble of Spares and Wares. It’s lucky the fire didn’t spread that far.

“The reason as to why the fire started in the first place is still a mystery.” The spokeswoman says. “We have reason to believe foul play was involved. Our specialists say that the explosion was too small to be a gas leak, and eyewitness reports say there were multiple people outside and even some inside when this happened. Casualties have not yet been counted.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?” Sharon prys, doing her best to clean up my hand.

“It’s a long story. I’d rather not talk about it right now.” I reply, my gaze not leaving the screen.

“Fine, but you can’t leave me out in the dark forever. You could die out there one day and I wouldn’t know the first thing about what happened. Promise me you’ll fill me in later?”

“I promise. And I’m sorry… its just been a long day for me.” I sigh, watching the reporters go on about what they think happened. They’ll find out when they dig down and find the bodies. Tens of nameless bodies. Why did I run back there? What's wrong with me, I just left Craig there in the hands of people that have no clue what happened to him. I need to find him.

“Thank you for your detailed report on the matter, Milo. The situation is now well- pardon? Excuse me?” The spokeswoman looks flabbergasted as she looks off-screen and then to the camera. “Breaking news! I’ve just got word that multi-millionaire, Edwin Fenton, has been found stabbed to death in his own home.”

“What?!” Sharon and I both exclaim.

“We as of this moment have people on the scene. Over to you, Cliff.” The screen then switches to a reporter standing in front of the mansion, crime tape surrounding the front entrance of the house.

“Thank you, Helen.” Cliff begins. “I am currently standing in front of Fenton Manor, and from what I’ve heard, both Edwin and his butler Singa were found dead inside.” He then rushes over to an officer standing by his lonesome. “Excuse me sir, can you please explain what is happening here tonight?” The officer in question turns to him, looking a little irritated.

“Well, we got a call a coupla’ hours ago from the security system saying that somebody broke in. We got here too late though. Mr. Fenton was found stabbed thirty seven times and either bled to death or died from the shock. That’s not even counting the multiple lacerations found on his chest and neck, or how both of his legs were broken.”

“My god. And the butler?” Cliff presses.

“Shot three times. The attacker had a vendetta against Edwin, that much is for certain. We’d be pretty lost on who it could be, however, there is security footage that caught his son Craig Fenton in the act.” The officer grimly states.

“His own son, at that! Where is he now?”

“No clue. He fled the scene before we arrived, but he was last seen running through the fields surrounding the property. A search party has been out there for nearly an hour now.”

“Well, there you have i-” I switch the television off, my heart racing not just from the pain now, but from questions. Craig was headless when I found him, so who the hell was that? Are there more killers like Franklin? Is this some kind of cult? Where is Greg? Am I safe, is Sharon safe? Is-

“Mason.” Sharon calls out, shaking my arm. I look over to her. “Your shaking, what's wrong? Have you lost too much blood?” Blood. The blood on his hands, the lives ruined. There has to be more, I’ll find them, one of them has to have Greg, and maybe more. I’ll avenge them. Lorraine. Darla. I stand up and head for the door, but my legs give out on me.

“Mason, what the hell are you doing? Mason? Mason, can you hear me?” Sharon catches me. Sharon. I’ve got to keep her safe. Keep everyone safe, I might be next if I don’t. Cold, I feel cold. I buckle over and throw up.

“Yes, operator, send over an ambulance, please be quick! I don’t care if you're full, you're always full!” She yells into her phone. I try to pull myself to the door, but she holds me back. My chest hurts. I need to find him. I need to… sleep. I need to gather my strength.

“Mason, get up! Mason, please! Stay awake, I beg of you! Mason? Mason!”


End file.
